Mr Holmes and His Maid
by Silencebeyondthestars
Summary: Victorian era Sherlolly with Sherlock meeting Molly when he hires her to be his house maid. ("Sherlock, while too ineligible man to comprehend the density of the veil of denial in which he has wrapped himself in, doesn't realize the unpleasant truth until in the grins and small jests of Doctor Watson. He can now see that the petite servant is having a quite an influence over him.")
1. Chapter 1

The fog was thicker than she'd ever seen it being and it only managed worsen her already ill mood. Normally Molly would have loved to wander down the streets and the bridges of her home city and to delight in the eerie sight of the grey thin matter filling the air making everything look like she'd stepped through a story book and into the world of the undead. The illuminating gaslights on the streets and the few people in sight only enhanced the spooky atmosphere and the thought that any moment now something wonderfully odd and frightening would happen made her skin crawl pleasantly.

For awhile she lost herself into a world of her own and it wasn't until her heavy bag on her shoulder inconveniently losing its position and sliding down along her arm broke her from her reverie.

Molly grimaced. Thoughts like that had always caused her trouble, first with her mother, who had at every chance she'd gotten had made sure to teach her daughters on how to behave themselves like proper women. Due to her stubborn nature she had allowed her mother's words go in and out of her head without remembering almost nothing of them afterwards. Maybe if Molly had listened she wouldn't be in this dreadful situation of just being let go of her position as a maid in the Lord Forrest's household, because she had spoken out of her place.

Oh she knew how to act and behave when she was dealing with people higher above her but what she lacked was the talent to hide her headstrong attitude, morbid thoughts and even worse, her jokes. As a keen student of human anatomy, her heavy bag currently held a book of the subject, she also had an interest for collecting obituary poems and wondering through graveyards and that definitely was not proper even for a woman in the lower class like her.

It was currently almost seven in the morning and she had to find a new position today before the night fell, unless she wanted to use her hard earned money to pay for a night in a motel and for food on top of it.

Sighing, Molly stopped walking and lay her second sack down on the side walk in effort to lift her other bag to her shoulder again. After that, taking hold of the handles of the one on the street, she continued her way, only to bump into a solid body of a male after one single step.

Her eyes leveled with the stranger's upper chest she could see that based on his clothing it was a real gentleman with whom she had collided with, and that made her even more annoyed as the man didn't make an effort to step aside.

Tone dripping with frustration, she didn't pause to think on her words. "Excuse me good sir but despite my lower status that does not mean you should just walk straight into me and then expect me to give way to you since I wasn't able to even see you."

Her gaze fixed on the dirty pavement she waited for the man to scold her or either step aside since she was not going to budge before him. After a moment when neither of those things had happened Molly begrudgingly lifted her head to see the face of the bothersome man.

A pair of blue and green hued eyes stared back at her, barely visible below the visor of his deerstalker, focused intently on her own hazel brown ones. The invisible force of the stare made her take one small step backwards and so the rest of him was revealed to her field of vision.

His face was the next to draw her attention. It was all sharp and angular with strong cheek bones, but the fullness of his cupid bow lips and his dark curly hair balanced the final result into something that looked oddly pleasing. Dressed in the most fashionable attire, he wore a black suit with a dark grey overcoat matching his headgear, the collar of the coat being turned up against the non existing wind, as it's more useful purpose was clearly to frame his face.

Together, the man's distinct facial features and his pale complexion made him look like someone not quite human, but more like a vampire who was enjoying a lovely morning out since the ghastly mist was blocking the rising sun. She almost expected him to reveal his sharp fangs at her and to drag her to the nearest alley to enjoy his fresh breakfast.

"Well? I'm not moving first." She said and then lifted her chin stubbornly, doing her best to ignore how handsome the man was.

"Interesting." Was the only thing he said but even that one small word was enough for her eyes widen. It had been spoken in a low baritone voice, unlike any other she'd heard.

"What is?"

"You clearly come from the lower classes and have surrendered your life to gruesome domestic service, you're unmarried, having lived previously lived with a cat based on the hair that's all over you but now you're clearly homeless in need of a new employer."

"Sounds to me just like another poor soul in this city. What's so interesting about that?" She shrugged

"Nothing, but your rudeness is, taken in consideration your gender, low social status and how you were taught to properly behave towards those above you."

"The last thing I need is a lecture so if you will excuse me sir."

She made an effort to dodge the man but sensing her intention he stepped aside too and again blocked her way. Sighing, she raised her head to look at him again.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes the world's only consulting detective and I happen to be in need of a housemaid. The residence is in Marylebone at 221B Baker Street which I share with a man called doctor John Watson. You will have the basement flat all to yourself to live in as I may require your service all around the clock. In addition to the living and food you will receive ten pounds a year in wages. Is that acceptable?"

"Twelve."

He paused for a fraction of a second before answering, no one had ever dared to get a pay rise from him before.

"Eleven and that's final."

Despite her hunch that her new employer would most likely turn out to be beyond demanding, the promise of her own living place would have made her foolish to not accept the position. Also her wages would be higher than she had ever before earned and again Molly thought it was something to do with the challenging job description.

"Fine. My name is Molly Hooper by the way." She said but found that her words were spoken to his back as he was now walking towards what she assumed was his home. She picked up her bag hastily and followed him, her shoes clopping against the cobble stones.

"Irrelevant, but keep in mind that if you continue this obstinate behavior of yours you'll soon find yourself without work again. I can only assume it was the reason to your most recent firing."

Molly had no time to answer when an odd noise was heard by them close by.

"Meow."

Mr. Holmes stopped immediately and his head snapped towards the noise her bag had seemed to make.

"Don't tell me you still have the feline with you? Anyway it's not welcomed. Please release it before we continue our way."

"Where I go, Toby goes too." She replied, not caring a fig about his most recent warning.

"I will not have you sprinkle around cat hair around my apartment."

"Then you can say goodbye to me right now! And I'm sure that with your behavior you'll have a hard time finding another servant so quickly."

Based on the look on his face that seemed to hit a nerve.

"Fine the cat can come, but make sure you keep it in your own quarters and you brush your uniform every time before entering my flat."

"Yes sir."

The tall man continued his stride and Molly soon found herself having a tough time keeping up with him with her heavy luggage.

"Sir are you a proper gentleman or not? Please take my other bag." She knew it wasn't the polite way she should address her new employer but her arms ached after carrying her belongings the entire morning and she could care less about etiquette.

Mr. Holmes stopped and turned back towards her.

"What use is of a weak servant? Our destination is only a few blocks away so you carry the bags by yourself or else feel free to find yourself a new position."

With that he continued his way, leaving behind a huffing and irritated Molly.

"What is a consulting detective anyway?" She panted as she scurried after him. "Sounds like a title one comes up with just because he couldn't get hired by the real police force."

After ten minutes they finally reached her new home and work place. A kind looking older woman, who Mr. Holmes introduced as Mrs. Hudson, greeted her at the door and after Molly dropped her bags in the basement flat and let Toby loose she, panting for breath and sweaty, followed him up the stairs, where his residence clearly was situated. There she met the other occupant of 221B.

At first glance Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes' flat mate and best friend, seeing the new hired help who would be the 19th in the long line of maids since Sherlock Holmes had managed to scare off the previous eighteen during their cohabitation, looked to him just like another timid servant girl who would in no time leave the place crying, after the detective had struck her with his sharp tongue. Even the promise of living in the 221C hadn't made any of the previous maids stay.

He had never been happier to be proven wrong though, as the days went by and the girl easily settled in he saw she could easily match up to her employer in the battle of wits and was not at all scared of his bad temper tantrums.

Actually John was at first taken back by the service maid's straight forward attitude, so different from all the other women he'd encountered before, but soon found himself grow fond of her. It was difficult not to, after the completely unhidden excitement the girl displayed towards his position in the medical field he himself took such pride of.

Still sometimes he wished his friend had hired an ordinary girl, after it became clear he was left in the opposition against her and Mr. Holmes on subjects which until now had been such he'd used to scold the detective the most about.

"But sir you're a doctor. How come you blanch at the sight of ordinary human remains?" The girl had asked all innocently when for the first time Sherlock had sent her to pick a basket full of body parts from Doctor Stamford at St. Barts hospital and John, thinking foolishly beforehand that the picnic basket on the kitchen table encased something eatable, had peaked under the lid to only find a pair of severed hands in there.

John had left the kitchen quickly without a word, leaving the girl to store the hands away, and had sat down into his armchair in the living room, opposite to his friend. From the top of the newspaper he was reading Sherlock simply answered John's flummoxed gaze with a grin that clearly said:

"_I know, isn't she brilliant." _

Despite Sherlock's earlier warning against her insolent behavior and her constant ignorance of it, couldn't change the tall man's high opinion of her. On the contrary, it only enhanced it.

But to John, even aggravating was that she soon in addition to her household duties became Sherlock's lab assistant as well. It was all fine that she took an interest in the chemistry but the mess in the kitchen seemed to only intensify, despite her tidy and organized nature.

No scratch that. What was worse was that he sometimes became replaced when Sherlock insisted her help instead of his to go undercover with him. It wasn't that John was jealous or angry at being occasionally left behind, it was that in all those times he was then left responsible for cooking the supper for himself as Sherlock always as a thank you offered her a meal outside.

"John I hardly think it's appropriate for you to go undercover as a chorus girl to a gentleman's club. Think of the scandal that would bring upon you." Sherlock had once told him as he was pulling his leather gloves on in the foyer where he waited for their maid to get ready.

"The peas are on the kitchen counter. You need to peel and wash them before boiling if you don't want to repeat the mess you did last time, sir." Molly chuckled lightly as she came from her flat dressed, instead of her usual black gown with a white apron and a matching mobcap, in a bright yellow dome-styled gown which had short sleeves leaving her shoulders and good proportion of her upper chest bare. Her long and thick hair wasn't straight anymore instead being slightly curled and pulled to the back of her head in a loose bun. John didn't even bat an eyelid at the sight since he had grown quite accustomed to the sight of their maid in undercover clothing.

He watched the pair, Sherlock dressed in his favorite dark blue belstaff and Molly in her white coat and chatelaine bag, walk down the street with him politely holding his left arm for her to hold on to and then him waving a carriage for them.

But despite all those things John Watson had never been happier to live with the eccentric consulting detective. He seemed more balanced and thank the lord less bored since he had now found himself a student who listened to his deductions with unwavering interest and who helped him with his experiments and with his work, bringing helpful new ideas and viewpoints to his knowledge.

Also, unnoticed by John didn't go the wall, which hadn't suffered a single violation since the girl had stepped into their service. Whether it was because of his reduced boredom or his fear for the maid's rage was unknown.

But even better, the thick veil of smoke that had seemed to hang around him constantly due to Sherlock's excessive smoking habit, had disappeared almost entirely. Who knew that instead of John's constant nagging it was a few well acted coughing fits and sad sighs from the petite housemaid that cured the detective out of his deadly habit. Also in a similar way soon gone was his addiction to the seven percent solution.

The consulting detective himself, if one would have asked his opinions of the changes the female addition to his life had caused, would simply huff and tell you to not speak of such nonsense for he was a man whose mind and will couldn't be altered by anyone.

It wasn't until one sunny Sunday morning that his true opinion of her would come to his acknowledgment, after his parents had ordered him to come visit them to talk about his impending need to marry in effort to guarantee his inheritance and thus maintain his current quality of life.

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><p><strong>AN: This is is supposed to be a oneshot but if you like it I can write a second part**

**According to some website, Victorian housemaids received about sixteen pounds a year but that was in big mansions so I reduced the sum because 221B is only a flat.**

**Ps. I'm on tumblr with the same name (Silencebeyondthestars) so come and say hi!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for your lovely feedback! There will be a third part after this but that is the end, I promise.**

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><p>Mr. Holmes the younger hadn't at first meeting expected to be acquainted with his latest employee no longer than a few days the most, for he was certain she would follow the path of all the other housemaids before her and leave him after all the conditions of the work were revealed to her.<p>

Since the other ones had barely stayed until the next day, he was in reality rather generous with his assumption.

It is then with a great astonishment that he takes in the sight of her not batting an eyelid as he explains to her about the tasks she is expected to carry out in his employment, one of them being handling human remains and internal organs.

"Excuse me sir but what did you say the name of your doctor friend at St. Bart's was?" She looks up from her tiny notebook in which she has been scribbling all of his orders the whole of morning.

"Did you hear what I just said?" The detective looked down at her narrowing his eyes. What other reason than not listening would she have to still to act so calm.

"Yes I heard you. You want me to retrieve body parts from the hospital's morgue for your experiments. But the name please? I need to write it down so I won't forget."

Staggered, he then as a test takes her downstairs to the basement's cool storage cupboard which is half full of the same previously mentioned items and this time witnesses her face morph, instead of repulsion that he expects, to excitement and wonder when he opens the door and explains that her duty is to keep the storage in order.

"How on earth did you manage to acquire _all_ these sir? Do not tell me that as a reward for your murder cases you get to have the victims as well as the donations from hospital?" She asks accompanied with a soft giggle.

Sherlock finds himself quite at lost for words.

After this he is certain that if it's not the gruesome aspects of the job then surely it will be his difficult and erratic person that repels her enough to abandon Baker Street for good. But then as the day and the next one goes by against all odds the girl keeps proving him wrong. Even gladly it seems.

This surprising, but more than welcomed change in his domestic life then leads him to a new challenge.

"Maid, come here at this instant!"

Frustrated, Molly dropped the dustpan she was holding and with clonk it hit the floor.

"Sir, I have a name. Would you please do me right by remembering it and then using it rather than calling me plainly _maid_?" Molly huffed as she was growing tired with Mr. Holmes, who kept calling for her constantly from the kitchen meanwhile she was gathering the ashes out of the fireplace in the living room.

"I have been in your service for a week now. There is nothing more you can do to surprise me that would drive me away." She reassures him as she leaves her chore, comes by the kitchen table and hands him the pipette which of course had been right in front of him the whole time.

His concentration leaves from the experiment in front of him and his eyes wander to her dirty form, her apron and cheeks covered with the grey flour like substance. The maid's arms are crossed on her chest and on her face she holds the stubborn expression he has already grown quite accustomed to. Sherlock sighs and finds it easier to acquiesce than stir another feud. He has already lost enough of those with her today.

"Very well Miss. .."

"Hooper, sir. But you can call me Molly. People usually refer to their housemaids by their Christian names."

"Miss Hooper will do just fine." He says as a drop of acid lands on the eyeball in the breaker and a small fizzing noise disrupts the silence.

Later he recognizes this as his first error in judgment concerning her.

The second one is agreeing to stop smoking because the teasing he receives from his Mycroft at this seems endless. But luckily the frustration against his elder brother is much diluted by Miss Hooper who seems to have come up with an inventive way to help her employer get back at him.

Molly, who in her assumption of the elder Mr. Holmes' person is torn between gratification at having her name remembered by him whenever he comes for a visit and disapproval of his downgrading treatment of his little brother, always keeps extra pastries hidden in the kitchen cupboards and gives them to the elder Mr. Homes, who is too polite to refuse them, to take with him home.

Sherlock is delighted to see his dear brother's waist line grow as his maid's stay with him continues.

As the weeks go by Sherlock begins to realize that his housemaid's potential reaches beyond than just cooking his supper and washing his dirty socks. Then as a consequence of this newfound acknowledgement of her well informed mind, Molly's job description expands and in addition to the domestic chores she begins to aid him with his experiments and eventually he sees her even as a capable assistant in his work.

Molly, already understanding her master's mind and nature, sees this as a great honor and which she can not thank him enough for. Her whole life has always strictly been divided between work and her interests but no longer is the line nearly as stark and she is joyous at having the chance to improve her knowledge on subjects she holds close to her heart.

Despite her nervousness at the thought of having to convey herself as a real lady amongst the genuine aristocratic folk, Molly basks in the excitement of getting to dress in beautiful and sometimes exotic outfits and lets Mrs. Hudson kindly do hairdos as she is eagerly waiting to accompany Mr. Holmes to another adventure.

Sherlock, while too ineligible man to comprehend the density of the veil of denial in which he has wrapped himself in, doesn't realize the unpleasant truth until in the grins and small jests of Doctor Watson. He can now see that the petite servant is having a quite influence over him. The idea of someone, especially one of his subordinates, to have so much power is startling to say the least for a man of his caliber.

His friend's words are proven to be true when one day he comes home from a case to find his maid in the kitchen feeding a small boy who by the looks of it is some poor street urchin. And rather dirty one at that.

His maid doesn't realize his arrival as her back is towards the entrance of the kitchen and her attention is drawn by the boy's imaginative chatter.

"Miss Hooper tell me what is a child doing in my kitchen eating what clearly used to be my portion of our dinner?"

She gasps, stands up quickly and turns towards him, trying to give a curtsey at the same time which of course doesn't end well. Molly refuses his helping hand and rises from the floor where she was just sprawled upon on with as much grace as she can muster.

"Sir. He delivered a note for you and I thought as a thank you I'd give him some food." She says hurriedly as she straightens her uniform.

The child, who had very politely introduced himself to her as Archie, stood up from his seat and hands a folded piece of paper to Sherlock while his mouth is busy chewing food which he never sees enough of.

Sherlock reads it and beckons Molly to join him in the living room. Smiling encouragingly at the child, she nervously sweeps after him.

"Miss Hooper do you understand that if you keep feeding every member of my homeless network the place will be flooding with people and we will very soon be starving ourselves?"

"I know sir, but he's just a child. I thought that maybe you could do a tiny little exception with the smaller ones. I already know that you hand money to them but they might just give it to their parents or other adults and possibly won't have any benefit from it themselves. At least this way their poor little stomachs won't be as empty."

He looks into her brown and pleading eyes and somehow finds himself agreeing. Before he can stop it the words leave his lips.

"Alright. Only with the children. And only if they have done something for me to earn it first."

And as the devilish woman smiles at him that innocent smile of hers, Sherlock comprehends with a horror that she is the one in possession of the upper hand in this odd relationship of theirs for he cannot sack her because he would most likely never find another servant who would fulfill his requirements with such satisfaction.

By heavens he must never let her realize it for he is certain she will otherwise be his doom.

As she happily joins Archie in the kitchen, Molly is much taken by her master's good heart. Despite her first impression of him being much less than amiable she had soon had found herself admiring the man. She knows deep inside of her that it's much more than is required from a servant of ones master.

Molly shakes her head, trying to banish the impropriate notions out of her head as she ruffles the boy's curls.

As the months go by Molly keeps wearing her uniform dutifully every day despite that she dresses in the most beautiful dresses almost every week while they're conducting their undercover work. She also continues to favor her employer with curtseys and address him as sir or master even when they are alone, as a way to remind herself of the strict line between a master and his servant that could never be crossed.

Sherlock, blissfully ignorant of such notions, has his easygoing life disrupted in the worst way possible on one morning when he gratifies his parents with one of his rare appearances at their small manor just outside of London.

"Son we are worried about you, can't you understand? I and your father are old now and when the time leaves us and when Doctor Watson is married there is no one who will look after you as you get older yourself. We know that there's always Mycroft but it's not the kind of care you need."

"I assure you I'm quite capable of taking care myself! What possible reason would I need a wife for when my landlady and housemaid already take care of all my domestic needs?"

Seeing that his wife was not able to answer him without setting their son's teeth on edge decided to intervene.

"Marriage is more than having someone to fulfill your physical needs. It's about sharing your life with another person, all the big and small things in it."

"But I do not need nor wish that kind of duty upon myself. I never have!" He gritted through his teeth.

His mother of course ignored him completely, believing to know his son better than he himself.

"We are quite adamant of this son and there won't be any use to try to sway us." His mother brandished her finger at him. "And if you won't marry I'm afraid all of your inheritance will go to you brother since he has already secured himself a wife. And what a lovely thing Anthea is. I only wish you would learn from his example dear."

"Mother you cannot be serious!" A rather furious looking consulting detective bellowed in his parent's parlor and almost made the crystals in the chandlery to shake at the volume of his voice.

"Calm down, son." His father tried to appease him. "It's not the end of the world."

"Not the end of the world? You are correct because it's much worse! To be saddled with some foolish woman whose only goal in life is to marry to secure her position in society and whose idle chatter I would have to endure every day. It's odious! Absolutely unimaginable!"

Not very gentlemanlike he sits down on one of the sofas taking a deep breath to calm his raging mind

When confronted with two options; one, stay free of the marriage but loose the inheritance which is the only thing in the long run that will secure the continuation of his current and enjoyable form of life when he gets older and is unable to as much leg work, or second; take himself a wife and guarantee his pleasurable lifestyle but have to put up with a moron of a person for the rest of his life, Sherlock felt quite at lost.

"Isn't there a lady in your circle of acquaintances who you would deem at all agreeable enough to marry?" His father asks, trying to help him in his choice. "Or if not maybe you could find one? After all I'm sure that even you are aware that not every woman is alike."

Sherlock couldn't help it. At his fathers words a mental picture of a woman came to him who he now knew would be able to fill that description more than adequately. She was wearing, instead of her usual black dress and white apron, the bright yellow dress she favors every time he takes her out on undercover assignments and which always makes her smile widely up at him."

"If there isn't I happen to have many close acquaintances who have daughters and some of whom are more than eligible.."

"Mother no. The last thing I wish is to have a wife of your choice. Besides I might have a candidate in mind."

"Really?" His parents gasp in unison.

"But son, are you certain she returns this feeling?" His father asked warily, much more acknowledgeable of his son's strong willed nature, believing that Sherlock's assumption didn't necessarily mean that the lady in question thought the same about him.

Sherlock, as ever wrapped in his blanket of shortsightedness, paused as he realized he had no idea how to respond to his father's inquiry. Sure Ms. Hooper seemed to tolerate him more than any of her predecessor had but that didn't necessarily mean she liked him and would want continue their acquaintance if she happened to leave her position.

Just what were her thoughts of his nature and appearance he wondered?

As a rational man as ever, Sherlock decided to approach this question objectively, grounding his findings on facts rather than feelings. It was perhaps an odd angle from which to view the matters of the heart but he did not know another way.

Firstly, based on the effects on the faces of many females and even a few males his presence had on them, he was aware that he happened to be a very handsome man. It wasn't vain to think that for he regarded it only as a fact as the thought of it did not bring up any sort of pride in him. Surely any woman would want an aesthetically pleasing spouse, he reasoned. Why would Miss Hooper be an exception?

But then there was also other aspect as well that demanded contemplation and which some individuals, much more sensible people he believed, actually found more important than the outer image.

His person had never really been a great subject of his introspection but based on what others had to say about him Sherlock could only come to a single consensus. It was true, he now admitted, that he was not a very amiable man, his manners often being the least gentlemanlike. He was ruthless in his words, not thinking beforehand about how they might be received by other people. It was a flaw he knew she found appalling based on the far too many encounters in which he had managed to hurt her feelings.

But surely there were enough of positive aspects in his person that would make up for the lack of others!

He was after all widely accounted as an astute man and surely an intelligent woman like Miss Hooper would rather be married to him than some lower class buffoon. And now when he thought about it, what reason would she have to decline his offer even if she didn't find him matching her image of the ideal husband?

Miss Hooper was in the end a woman with no family nor funds to speak of and who would have to rely only on wit in the grueling world. But if she accepted him as her husband then she wouldn't have to worry about anything for the rest of her life.

And as Sherlock went much further in his view about his and Miss Hooper's future relationship, which he already counted as a more than a certain fact, the more he realized that there was no other woman to be found on the face of the earth that he would wish to marry as much as he did his maid.

But the question still remained; did he wish to get married at all in the first place?

At the thought of his chosen bride and the life they would lead together, the answer came to him faster than a bullet.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I seem to be unable to let this story go and end it so I had to cut this chapter in half because it was turning out long and that's why you can expect the real final chapter soon.

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><p>"As you know, I have long ago resigned myself from the possibility of ever entering into a matrimony, after all it's nothing but humbug, merely the government's incessant need of keeping everyone in a leash and the church's ploy to lecture us more about the nonsense that is faith. But now I find myself in a predicament that is the result of me having recently been informed by my parents that if I wish to guarantee my yearly income from their inheritance fund then I must acquire myself a wife. And now, despite my earlier qualms about this most inconvenient matter, I have realized I haven't got another option than to acquiesce to their demand. This of course leads me to the subject at hand. After a thorough inspection of the present circumstances, I have come to the conclusion that it should be in both of our benefit if it were us who were bound together in the eyes of the law and society. For me this arrangement would guarantee my earlier mentioned income but also it would save me from the monetary loss of your annual wages. You on the other hand would gain a secure and lifelong stay at Baker Street, you wouldn't have to work anymore and you would be in no fear of finding yourself without a home nor nourishment ever again. I realize what I've just said have taken you by surprise but I would like for you to consider my offer and give me your answer as soon as possible so I'll know if I have to began planning the tedious task of finding another woman for the position if you for some foolish impulse refuse me."<p>

John Watson was sometimes beyond glad that a man like Sherlock Holmes had a friend such as him for if he did not he was certain Sherlock would have forever been blind to his own foolishnesses and would've suffered the dire consequences of it for the rest of his life. _This_ matter definitely being the most regrettable in the midst of them.

The former army Doctor, sitting in his red armchair, and the Consulting detective, standing opposite of him in front of the fireplace, stared each other a good minute before the former one was able of any speech.

"That's it? That's the great speech you are going to propose her with?"

"Yes." He nodded "Although I myself do think it was rather good I'd hardly call it great like you. That's why I came to you for your input since I know you've already thought up a way to propose to Miss Morstan even though you haven't known each other for a fortnight yet. And of course everyone knows you're to more experienced of us in the relationship front. "

John leans his forehead into his palm and shakes his head without being unable to not laugh.

"No, Sherlock. You have misunderstood my meaning because that was nowhere near good. Or even passable for that matter. I'm sure Molly would not only box your ears red but she would most likely resign as well after hearing that."

The answer clearly caught the ever so confident detective of his guard as his eyes narrowed at his flat mate.

"Why? What is so wrong about it? I explain everything logically and in a way that she simply has no reason not to accept."

Causing the end of his camel colored morning robe fly in the air Sherlock plunges down onto his leather chair and steeples his hands together below his chin, looking determined to prove his friend wrong.

The doctor sighs.

"You're missing the one and the only matter of persuasion there is for Molly when it comes to marriage proposals."

"What could I have possibly missed that would be more important than the promise of good and stable standard of living?"

"Love, Sherlock. She won't marry you without you loving her."

The men stare at each other again, this time Sherlock being the one without any words. Too bad John doesn't have much time to feel inferior because to his disappointment he can see the frustrating look of stubbornness come to that aristocratic face of his.

"You underestimate her John."

"And how's that?" John quips, prepared to make the irritatingly obstinate arse see some sense.

"Miss Hooper would surely see my offer as far superior than some other man's who would promise her love instead of no monetary security."

"My God, Holmes!" Doctor Watson exclaimed rather exasperatedly. "How are you able to fool yourself to think that way, I cannot fathom."

The consulting detective sneered. "How am I a fool?"

"Has her talk about her ideals really escaped you all this time or do you have it so bad for her that you have convinced yourself to regard it as a certain fact that she will accept you because the thought of her turning you down would be so horrifying? "

Having witnessed the two friends of his being as thick as thieves these last months, John was certain the latter was the real reason.

"What are implying?"

Conjuring up his most commanding tone of voice from his army days, John pointed his index finger at Sherlock. "You know perfectly well! I think it's high time for you to admit it that you have now found yourself wrong about the subject which I asked of you years ago when we first dined together. If you won't admit it to me then at least admit it to yourself!"

A look of frustrated incomprehension was evident in the features of the insufferable man so John yelled the next sentence so loud that the windows almost shook.

"You're in love with her Sherlock!"

As his words reached the detective's consciousness, John witnessed his eyes widening almost comically just a second before a sort of veil formed over his friends gaze and knew he had slipped inside of his mind palace to mull over what he'd just been told.

John took a deep breath and leaned back against his chair's backrest. He was adamant of not backing off so easily since after all he had grown to like their maid immensely during the span of these months and he would not let his friend drive her away in his stubbornness. In fact John would not like anything more than seeing his best friend married to the only woman who managed to keep him on his toes constantly but at the same time balanced his erratic and stormy personality with her calm and nurturing nature.

Absorbed in his musings, the elder man subconsciously reached his hand over his upper lip to scratch his mustache, but to only find smooth skin in it's place. He had again forgotten that since his newest lady friend Ms. Morstan had recently let it slip that she, just like his git of a best friend, wasn't so fond of his mustache he had shaved it off this very morning. Giving his already raised hand something to do he scratched the back of his head, eyeing the still unmoving man opposite of him. John really couldn't understand how thick Holmes could occasionally be.

He chuckled and between taking sips from his tee. What amused him the most was how blind Sherlock seemed to be in the face of all the teasing and flirting he and his maid seemed to throw themselves so naturally into and It was as if no one else in the world existed when they were locked into their conversations about lord knows what sickening subjects. They bloody sounded like they were talking about going to a picnic rather than different ways of killing someone with carbolic soap, which their maid coincidentally used to clean their pots and pans.

"John?" Sherlock's tone was low but firm.

Aha. So the consulting detective had finally risen from his self-inflicted stupor. Just what had he discovered, the doctor wondered.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Do you believe that she returns these.. I mean what do you think her feelings are regarding this matter?"

At his small but very telling mishap, John wanted to laugh straight at his face but knew it wouldn't be taken well by the taller man, especially now when he looked as serious as on the day almost year ago when they had faced Charles Augustus Magnusson and he'd been sent to exile.

John carefully thought how to choose his next words.

A few years ago when the crime solving duo had encountered the infamous Ms. Adler, who had threatened the British Monarchy with a scandal, his friend the clever consulting detective had had no trouble to understand the blatant meaning behind her double entendres but now, faced with a woman who practically worshiped the ground he walked upon on, Sherlock was clueless.

The saying, love is blind, certainly hit it's mark with these two fools, granted in a different meaning.

"You want the absolute and cold truth or the smoothed up version?"

"The facts, John. You know nothing else matters to me."

To anyone else who'd see the detective now he would've seemed as indifferent and put together as always but John could easily see how near the brink he was to loose his calm irreversibly.

"She would bloody throw herself off a cliff if it meant you'd keep on living."

Some emotion flashed in his face but before John could inspect it at all, Sherlock, assured by the honesty of his friend, stood up and marched over to the coat cupboard from where he pulled out his scarf and his Belstaff.

Sherlock had just buttoned the last button when the woman of their previous conversation came through the front door, carrying a fresh batch of internal organs from St. Barts.

"Miss Hooper." Was the only greeting he bestowed upon her before rushing past her down the stairs, fishing out addresses of London's best goldsmiths from his mind palace.

"Where was he off to? I thought he wanted to get his hands on the kidneys he sent me to get this morning." Molly looked after him, oblivious to the conversation which had just been taken place inside the flat.

"Probably a case." John grinned.

* * *

><p>Sherlock walked along the streets of his beloved city deep in thought, deciding to take a walk before finding her the engagement ring she deserves.<p>

Of course! It all made perfect sense to him now. The blushing, the elevated heart beat every time their hands made contact accidentally when they were busy experimenting or dancing on their undercover missions. Previously he'd thought it had been a natural reaction from a woman who didn't go out much and so didn't have many men bestowing compliments or touches upon her but now Sherlock realized those symptoms had been signs of her feelings for him.

As startling as the realization of her feelings for him had been, it'd been even more of a shock to become aware of his own approach to her. Sherlock had never been in love before, in the romantic sense of the word, and that's why he reasoned all the signs of it must have been so lost on him that he hadn't been able to come to any concrete conclusion from the disconnected clues he'd gathered about his different bodily and mental reactions to her presence.

Even if he couldn't proclaim it out loud to his friend yet, Sherlock now knew he loved her. Most deeply in fact, because no other person on earth made him feel and behave like she did. He was embarrassed to have needed John to make him realize that.

It was also now that he finally understood Miss Hooper's odd behavior that one afternoon a week back when he had come home from a case only to find a lady, whose name now escaped her, sitting in his living room and who clearly thought that she could pay him his reward for solving her case in the bedroom.

As he'd tried to block the unwanted attempts with all the politeness he could muster (in his monetary situation he couldn't loose any more well paying customers due to his rudeness) his maid had been scrubbing dishes in the kitchen with a vigor that caused almost half of the water to spill onto the floor.

After he'd said shooed the pest of a woman away Sherlock had spent the whole evening getting only single word replies from his maid whenever he'd asked her about what was bothering her.

"Miss Hooper you've dusted that lamp three times now. Are you sure everything is all right? He asked from the behind his news paper.

"I said I'm fine." She snapped.

Her forgetting to call him Sir. had really made Sherlock worry about her even more since she usually always addressed him properly.

And as the wet dust rag collided with his face with an unhidden force he realizes that mentioning her menstrual cycle could have been a mistake.

Now, enlightened by the reality of his regard for Miss Hooper and vice versa, Sherlock only hoped that he hasn't botched things up before he even knew there was the possibility of doing so. Just as he was walking about a half way through the Mall he came to an abrupt stop and a feeling of dread came upon him.

He had a new proposal speech to plan out, on which relied the happiness of rest of his life but this time he couldn't rely on his much practiced logic but instead on his feelings which he had made a job to avoid his entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So this is the end guys. I've had so much fun writing this small victorian piece and I hope you've had fun reading it. Thank you for everyone who has favored and reviewed, your words have really made my day and I can't thank you enough! :)

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><p>.<p>

It very nearly drives John mad watching how indecisive his friend can be when it comes to gathering his courage to actually pop the question. Whenever he asks Holmes about it the real answer is found somewhere mixed between the incoherent mumbling, glares and a sudden changes of topic, all which the younger man gives at his direction.

Out of all this nonsense John can clearly understand that he still hasn't found the right words to reveal his feelings for Miss Hooper.

Watching Holmes throwing longing looks at his maid whenever Molly isn't paying attention starts to grind John's nerves but he continues acting unbiased even when one Wednesday afternoon he witnesses Sherlock's pitiful effort at bringing up the topic of marriage in the common sense of the concept to Miss Hooper.

His friend's attempt fails short though as she misinterprets the meaning behind her master's words and comforts him that she has no intention of marrying anyone at the moment and that Mister Holmes shouldn't worry about having to find another housemaid yet.

"Mr. Holmes I can assure you that I know how odious it is for you to hire new staff and I promise to find you a new housemaid myself when the time comes for me to marry." She reassures him with a small smile.

John wants to smack his friend silly, who says nothing to correct her and goes back to his experiments.

But as the weeks go by and the frustration inside of John grows he despite of it absolutely refuses to help the clueless detective, saying that there is nothing he can do since it's Sherlock alone who knows his own heart and head and it's his own words alone she should hear.

Sherlock for the life of him cannot understand his betraying body. It's as if every time he goes near his maid with the slightest of intention of laying his soul bare in front of her, he is suddenly weakened with a gripping fear of loosing her for good if she'd happen to turn him down.

Despite of John's firm guarantees that there is no likelihood of that ever happening Sherlock still can't help but be uncertain. His rudeness and unintentional mean words have caused her pain many times in the past and because of this he believes she would be right to deny him. Sherlock almost wishes she'd leave him because he simply feels himself being too undeserving of her.

But because he is still Sherlock Holmes he continues to selflessly want her all to himself, both in body and soul.

A few days later he ignores the blatant dissatisfaction the doctor signals his way after the announcement in which Sherlock explains that he, finding the straight on approach too insuperable, plans to advance the situation with a different tact. Instead of catching her completely off guard with his proposal he decides to slowly move forward their relationship to a more informal direction than what is normally excepted from two people who are on the opposite ends of the social ladder like he and Miss Hooper. He wishes that maybe this way she could start to notice his true feelings for her on her own and he wouldn't have to do anything about it.

John laughs at the last sentence and proceeds to give him another lecture which Sherlock ignores too, quite adamant that his plan will work perfectly. But there's a problem though. He just isn't yet sure as what exactly that approach would concretely contain without it being too blatant.

Sherlock unintentionally finds his answer one morning Molly when accidentally pours coffee all over her uniform and since her spare dress, currently splattered with questionable bodily fluids, is also waiting to be washed she is forced to wear one of the few dresses she owns.

It's nothing special, just a simple light grey piece which hugs her curves and narrow waist tighter than her uniform, and which in a small dome shape descends down her legs. The neckline of it isn't too deep and sleeves are long and narrow, making it perfectly convenient for her work. Still it makes a huge difference to how Molly feels moving around the flat and _him_.

Wearing her own garments is nothing like wearing her disguises because she is now being herself in her own clothes.

After the day is done and she is about to leave for her own quarters downstairs Mr. Holmes, who is spending his evening by throwing poisoned darts at a human sized dummy whose drawn face looks suspiciously like his older brother's, makes a passing remark to her that if Miss Hooper finds it more comfortable she shouldn't have to bother wearing her black dress to work and he could just buy her a few simple everyday gowns, around which she could then tie her apron.

Molly's heart beats faster and she finds an odd feeling of hope blooming inside her chest which she cannot quite understand.

Unfortunately it's soon extinguished after she turns to him and sees that he, much more focused on his folly than her, seems to be only polite and logical in his suggestion. It is after all only in his nature to support ideas that are logical even if they are not socially acceptable by the majority of society.

"I mean black really doesn't do any favors for your skin tone." He shrugs and doesn't even turn to her way to see why she is still being silent.

"My uniform is perfectly fine for me Sir. I'm not shallow to care how I look in it."

With those words Molly doesn't wait for his answer and leaves the flat.

Too late, Sherlock turns to look at her and he only sees her receding back as she disappears from view on her way downstairs. His forehead sinks to lean on his palms as a groan fills the otherwise silent flat. It looks like he managed ruin things again because of his own cowardliness.

Thus his plan is disregarded and Sherlock returns to the revolting task of finding his courage to face her directly about his intensions.

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><p>.<p>

For a man as brave and fierce Sherlock Holmes, it takes him two more weeks. Finally on a chilly and gloomy October morning as he watches her, through the window of his living room flat, leaving for her usual morning stroll through the foggy London town, he's had enough.

It has simply been utter torture, being uncertain how this would all turn out, whether she'd leave him or accept him as her husband. Sherlock won't wait any longer to find out which outcome it is be because even in the more than unfortunate situation in which she'd decline him at least he'd have some sort of closure.

But in one thing Sherlock was certain. And that was that if she wouldn't have him he would never marry another. He just simply couldn't picture anyone else taking her place both inside his home and his mind palace. His inheritance could all go to Mycroft for all he cared.

He grabs his deerstalker and the matching grey jacket, puts them on and follows her out to the quiet streets, walking a suitable distance from her so she wouldn't notice him yet.

Molly had always enthusiastically shared her excitement to him about vampires and living dead who according to her lived in the under city below London and who'd come out to the living world on these misty mornings to wonder down the streets. Although Sherlock had listened her stories with amusement, truth to be told he had not been at all pleased to discover her habit of going walking so early in the morning since instead of vampires and undead he was much more vary of the actual people who traveled outside at that time of the day. A petite young woman like her would surely be an easy target for their treacheries.

Sometimes he send people from his homeless network to follow her and keep her safe but most often it's he himself who follows her in the shadows, as he has discovered the pleasures of the early morning walk too.

Now Sherlock watched her happily pace along the cobblestone road, so clearly inside of her own mysterious thoughts which even he had trouble of figuring out, as she led them to the London Bridge where he finally decided to have the word with her. He was glad there were not much people around to speak of for he didn't desire to have a large audience for as private moments as this was going to be.

He hastened his steps to catch up with her. Sherlock knew better than just to grab her by her shoulder, since he had taught her self defense, so he made his presence known to her buy calling her name.

"Miss Hooper!"

She'd been having the tingling feeling in her gut that she was followed and had just been about to fasten her pace when she'd heard him. Stunned Molly turned around to see her employer taking the last long strides until he stood in front of her, towering over her just like he'd done on their first meeting.

"Sir! What are you doing here?" She asked and can already tell by his stiff posture that something is bothering him.

"I have some things to talk to you about."

"Why here? Couldn't it wait until I returned?"

"Molly would you please just favor me on this. Now, I have lately been…"

"Oh this is serious is it?" Molly blurts out before she can stop herself.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What makes you think so?"

"You just called me Molly. You never use my Christian name unless you're too wrapped up in your emotions to realize. Usually it's because you happen to be extremely cross with me or when you're excited after I have discovered something that you haven't like on that one occasion when were locked in the broom cupboard in the British Museum waiting for the thief…"

He held his palm up to stop her rambling, quite impatient to already follow through with his speech so that he wouldn't have more time to chicken out. Lucky for him it did the trick and she stopped.

"Yes. This is quite serious."

"Alright then, sir. I'm listening."

He took her by her elbow and led them aside from the walkway so that they were now more or less leaning to the railings of the bridge.

He cleared his throat and began.

"This may sound quite odd to you with out any prefatory for this conversation topic from my part but I still wish to speak directly if you don't mind."

She gave a nod to signal her consent and he continued.

"I have recently been thinking of the concept that is marriage and it's what I now wish to speak with you about."

"Oh. Well then I think I might already have an inkling as to what you're going to say."

His eyes, which until now had been resting at their still joined hand and elbow, snapped up to her face. Instead of her earlier happiness he was met with… sadness, she looked incredibly sad. Why was she like that? And how did she knew about his feelings? Did her sadness mean she'd been hoping for him to avoid proposing to her? Did she not want him?

The questions ran through his mind with a startling speed and he couldn't form any coherent sentence.

"Y-You do?" He managed to utter after a short silence.

"Yes. You've been more than obvious actually, bringing up weddings and matrimony quite frequently this past month. And of course your brother told me a few weeks ago about your parent's threat to make you get married."

Hearing about Mycroft's meddling Sherlock more than ever wished to send his brother to the farthest realm of hell.

"And now you've approached me to tell of your intentions regarding the possibility of you entering matrimony and how it affects me."

"That is my notion, yes." He nods slowly.

She bites her lower lip nervously and continues.

"So have you perhaps settled things with your former fake fiancée Miss Janine or is it Lady Bowes-Lyon you are marrying? She did seem so very enthralled with you when you solved her case last month."

Out of the things she could've said this was the least likely he'd expected to hear. It completely paralyzed him.

"Well, whoever the honorable lady is I'm sure the reason why you want to discuss it with me is to do with the termination of my position in your household. I understand perfectly that your fiancée would like to hire her staff herself and that she might not value a housemaid as young as I am."

"Miss Hooper I'm afraid…" He tried to cut her off but she only spoke faster.

"The only things I ask Sir, is that if you'd be so kind to find me a new position somewhere else. Perhaps Mr. Watson could hire me when he marries Miss Morstan? Or maybe your brother would be in need of a maid?"

This made Sherlock shook himself out of his stupor.

"The last place I would send you is to him!"

"I-It was just a suggestion Sir. Any place you find where I'll have a roof over my head and some food is more than fine for me."

"Miss H… Molly" Sherlock spoke gently and moved his hands to take hers, only to find that they were bare and cold from the chilly autumn weather. He raised them upwards to hold them against his chest to keep them warm inside of his own as she looked up at him with those wide doe eyes, the tip of her nose and her cheeks blushed from the both weather and their closeness.

"Molly. May I call you that?"

"Of course Sir." She giggled lightly. "I've asked you that all the time."

"Molly, while it's true I've been entertaining the thought of entering into matrimony the women who you just mentioned haven't been in my thoughts at all."

"No?"

"No. In fact there's only one woman whom I regard as the perfect choice for me from the start."

"Oh."

"I have to admit to you that the thought of proposing to her only came to me after my parent's warning but I assure you it didn't change my feelings towards her because I had loved her even before it. Their warning only acted as a way for me to become aware of it."

"Then who is she?"

"She is the only woman on earth who knows me as who I really am and still wants keep me in her life. She doesn't only understand my odd habits but happily partakes in them too and she doesn't try to change me but I still want to become better, more deserving of her. I genuinely feel like she is my other half who completes me and makes me whole. She is the light to my darkness and more fittingly, the kindness to my rudeness."

His hands tightened around her smaller ones as he pulled her willing body tight against his and his eyes focused intently on hers as Sherlock lowered his head so that it was now on the same level with hers, their foreheads almost touching.

"Molly. You're the one person who can read me better than anyone else so look me in the eye and tell me whom I'm talking about."

Before this morning Molly had been doing her hardest not to admit it to herself but when the elder Mr. Holmes had mentioned to her about his younger brother's imminent engagement she'd finally had to acknowledge the horrible truth after she'd thrown down onto her bed and cried her eyes out. She was in love with her master who, by all the evidence, was going to be married to some beautiful upper class woman who'd force Molly to leave her home and _him_.

She had known it was never going to happen, Mr. Holmes returning her feelings despite how good friends they were, because it just didn't happen. Yes, sometimes the men in upper classes had passionate love affairs with their servants but they didn't marry them. And so these past weeks when she'd known of his intensions had filled her with mixed feelings. Dread at the thought of being forced to soon say goodbye to him and happiness at being beside him solving cases and doing experiments. No place had ever felt like home to her like Baker Street and she knew he was the sole reason for it.

Now her heart was rummaging inside her chest as the earlier suffocated hopefulness inside her returning with speed.

This close to him Molly could only see Sherlock's eyes, the rest of him being just a blur in the background. His eyes were the same colored as she had seen on him when they'd first met and which at the time had looked so cold and harsh when they'd appraised her. She certainly couldn't say the same any more. Now they were so full of emotion as they looked deep into her own, so full of hope, longing and… love.

Molly's eyes widened and Sherlock found himself unable to wait any longer. He observed her face for any resistance as he kept himself close to her but when he found none he uttered the words which had burned his insides, dying to be let out ever since his conversation with his flat mate.

"I love you Molly. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife."

Molly doesn't hesitate, instead acting completely on her instinct.

"Of course I will!"

As the last syllable leaves her lips his chin moved towards as he brought his lips to hers, placing a gentle kiss to her cold lips which warmed instantly. She responds to him in earnest and they were locked in their embrace for a long time, lips moving and arms pulling each other as close as they can, not caring the slightest what others would think about their different social statuses.

In the middle of the cold and bleary London morning a joined unity of love radiates brightly, keeping the two occupants of it warm and finally satisfied inside of it.

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><p>.<p>

Living with the newly weds after they returned from their honeymoon in Italy John Watson now knew he'd had it easy before his best friend had refused to marry anyone else than their maid. To be honest the Doctor sometimes little regretted the union, because much worse than cooking his own supper, seeing the lovesick detective and more bloody organs splattered around the kitchen, were the loud sounds coming from the new Mr. and Mrs. Holmes shared bedroom, and sometimes outside of it, at all times of the day.

Lucky for him though, he managed to move out of 221B to his own residence with his new wife Mary just in time, because he was positive that the joint crying of his god children, the newborn twins Edward and Elizabeth Holmes', would have been a much more of an annoyance.

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><p><strong>AN:**

_I'm actually playing with the idea of writing another, longer, victorian Sherlolly AU but after I've finished my other stories. If you have some suggestion what it should be about please share them with me!_


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